78. Riley
SEVENTY-EIGHT
Once I find Catherine,everything is fine. Better than fine. Hilarious. She folds me into a giant hug, squealing. I cackle in response. Everything all of a sudden feels wild and out of control.
”How did you get away from Gabriel?” she shrieks.
I smirk saucily. ”I walked out the front door. He was busy anyway, with a meeting or business or whatever.”
”Look at you, you little rebel. I”m so glad you”re here, though. Cocktail?” She points to the bar, where there are three glasses of amber liquid that look as though they”re on fire, all lined up in fancy glasses.
”No, I”ve already gone against doctor”s orders and had a glass of champagne as I walked in. I only have one liver, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. ”Livers can regenerate. Or, I can give you part of mine.”
I clutch her arm and laugh. ”No, that”s okay. I”ll just have a soda.”
”Fine. But come see the drinks.”
She leads me over to the bar and we ooh and ahh over the smoky cocktails. I get my soda and we stand in the corner gossiping like teenagers. She tells me that there are two art collectors from Miami here tonight, and they”re interested in her doing a show in that city.
As she talks, her face lights up. She”s almost a different person now, much more bubbly and approachable. Or perhaps we”ve come to some informal, unspoken truce. That Gabriel”s my boyfriend, and she”s someone from his past that I can live with.
Whatever it is, I”m here for it, and I”m enjoying being around her tonight — and in this packed gallery party. Somehow I”m even having such a good time that I don”t ask about why she”s used my boyfriend as a muse. That isn”t a question for tonight.
There are others, though, that are.
”Oh, by the way. Do you know a guy named Beckett Sinclair?” I ask.
She scrunches up her nose. Tonight she”s wearing a dramatic black ball gown and a fascinator hat. I think she”s channeling a 1920s Art Deco vibe, but I”m not entirely certain because I don”t know my historical time periods.
”No, I don”t think so. What does he look like? Is he hot?” She takes a sip of her drink.
”Yeah, I guess.” I describe his face, and where he said he works.
”Doesn”t ring a bell, but I put flyers everywhere on this block for the party. C”mon, I”ll introduce you around.”
With her arm threaded through mine, we strut around the room. It seems like she”s made a lot of acquaintances in her short amount of time back in the city. She introduces me as ”the best features writer the city of Tampa”s ever seen,” which makes me scoff and blush. But her words are so kind and sincere that I”m appreciative, and several people give me their business cards, telling me to call them for story ideas.
For a solid hour, we work the room together, laughing, joking, and chatting about art and nothing too heavy. Oddly, that Beckett Sinclair guy is nowhere to be found, but I guess he could”ve come and gone. It”s just as well, because I”ve chatted up so many interesting people. Gone are my worries about the mafia, murders, and my kidney — although I know I need to cut my night short.
My body”s feeling exhausted. It”s telling me that I need to rest. After all, I was just released from the hospital earlier today. I hope this doesn”t deplete me or set me back, and I”m hoping that the mental boost from the interesting conversation and laughter will help more than hurt.
Eventually, I pull Catherine aside. ”I need to go.”
Her face crumples. ”Nooo,” she wails. ”We”re having so much fun. I really like you. Is it because of Gabriel? I”ll deal with him.”
I shake my head. ”No, I”m feeling tired all of a sudden. I need to rest.”
”Oh, you poor thing. I”ll come over tomorrow or Sunday and we can have lunch, okay? I”ll text you.”
I nod and fold her into a big hug. ”And I forgot your sunglasses.”
She tips her head back and laughs. ”Don”t worry about it.”
”Thank you for getting me out of the house tonight.”
She steps back and makes a funny grin. ”Thank you for being my only true friend in the city. We”ll have more adventures soon.”
After another hug, I make my way to the car, carefully checking to see if anyone”s following me on the street. For some reason, the piercing eyes of Beckett Sinclair are still burned into my brain, and when I don”t see anyone, I sprint across the road and into my car, speeding off.
Now comes the real challenge: dealing with Gabriel.